


After the Storm (Part Eleven of "Peeping Through the Closet Door")

by OpenPage



Series: Peeping Through the Closet Door [11]
Category: 21 Jump Street (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-14 08:11:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14765838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpenPage/pseuds/OpenPage
Summary: Can Tom and Dennis get their relationship back on track?





	1. Love Ain't a Love Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ute](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ute/gifts).



> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/42311772422/in/album-72157683689305643/)
> 
> **Disclaimer: I do not own 21 Jump Street or any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. All characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.**
> 
> **No copyright infringement is intended.**
> 
> **Based on the TV series 21 Jump Street.**

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/42360095761/in/album-72157683689305643/)

It wasn’t the loud whistly _keow_ of the Western gulls flying overhead that woke Booker from a dreamless sleep. Nor was it the foul aftertaste of whiskey thickening his saliva. It was the dull throb in his nose and painful ache in his jaw that roused his senses, the discomfort slowly intensifying as his mind floated toward consciousness. A low moan rumbled in the back of his throat, and opening his eyes, he squinted against the harsh sunlight blazing through the open window. Although his brain screamed at him not to move, he pushed himself into a sitting position and touched his nose, his fingers gingerly exploring the bruised flesh and damaged bone before moving down and investigating his swollen jaw. There were no apparent bumps, and he breathed a somewhat stuffed-up sigh of relief. If his nose was broken, it was at least straight, which eased his mind. But he knew without looking in a mirror that he was sporting two very impressive black eyes, and they would need some explaining once he returned to work. The accuracy of Tom’s punch had him lamenting his bad luck while secretly marveling at his lover’s prowess. The young officer might not be the most muscular man on the planet, but there was no doubt he could hold his own in a fight.

Swinging his legs over the side of the mattress, Booker rubbed a hand over his sleep-mussed hair. A loud burp trembled over his parted lips, his toxic whiskey-soaked breath managing to find its way through his swollen nasal passages. He screwed up his face in disgust, but as pain flared across the bridge of his nose, he instantly regretted the rashness of his decision. With a hiss, he drew in a sharp intake of breath and closing his eyes, he waited for his suffering to subside. Several long minutes passed until he felt strong enough to stand, and rising to his feet, he shuffled into the living area.

Dirty crockery sat on the kitchen counter, the remnants of the cooked breakfast churning Booker’s stomach. With no sign of Tom, he staggered into the bathroom and relieved his aching bladder. Leaving the toilet seat up, he flushed and stumbled over to the hand basin. He paused for a moment, studying his battered face in the mirror before turning on the faucet and washing his hands. It wasn’t only his face that had taken a beating, his pride had taken a flogging too. On any other day, he would have given as good as he got, if not better. But his dull, inebriated mind had proved no match for a pissed off officer with Tom’s training. He vaguely remembered slugging his lover, his punch clumsy and off target, and his blow would have done minimal damage if Tom hadn’t happened to be standing on the back balcony. Not that he was proud of sending his lover tumbling down a flight of stairs, he wasn’t, but it was a little satisfying knowing he’d inflicted _some_ damage, however minor. It was a man thing. He’d managed to save face—even if it were more by good luck than good judgment—and the knowledge helped lessen the pain of his damaged ego. It wasn’t a fair fight, not by a long shot, but they were both nursing injuries, and in Booker’s hungover mind, that helped even the score in the macho world of testosterone-fueled fist fights.

With thoughts of Tom swirling through his mind, the dark-haired officer turned off the faucet and wandered back into the living area. When he noticed both backpacks still sitting on the floor, he visibly relaxed. Tom hadn’t left, which meant he was probably out for a walk. It was what his lover did when he wanted to think, and a shiver of foreboding ran down the length of his spine. Hanson tended to over analyze certain situations, and he hoped their little spat wasn’t enough of a provocation to have him reevaluating their relationship until they’d at least had a chance to talk things through.

In need of some water, Booker entered the small kitchen. As he headed toward the refrigerator, he caught sight of the blue gift box lying in the bottom of the trash can, it’s wrapping covered in discarded eggshells. A pang of regret stabbed through his heart, and stopping, he stared down at the packaging. It amazed him something so innocuous had managed to cause such heartache. But it wasn’t the box that had divided them, it was the small, shiny key contained within. And if Tom had thought the symbolic gesture would unlock the remaining secrets hidden within his heart, he was sorely mistaken. He wasn’t looking for a token expression of affection, he was looking for a solid commitment, and until his lover was one-hundred-percent on board, then he would stubbornly stand his ground.

The sound of a door sliding open sent a flutter through Booker’s heart and turning around, he watched as Tom entered the condo. Noticing Booker’s battered face, the young officer stopped, his dark eyes shining with remorse as he slowly closed the door. “Are you okay?”

Self-conscious of his injuries, Booker ducked his head. “Yeah,” he muttered, his eyes focusing on the floor. “You?”

“Yeah,” Tom murmured, his fingers brushing over the lump on the side of his head. An awkward silence followed before the young officer pulled the key to the condo out of his pocket and slid it across the kitchen counter. “The lease is paid through to Sunday. Stay. Go. I don’t care. But I think it’s best if I catch the next bus out of here.”

Booker lifted his head, his dark eyes projecting a deep sadness. “Don’t leave. We haven’t even talked about what happened.”

Tom’s penitent expression melted into one of annoyance. “What do you want to talk about, Booker? Huh? About how I gave you a key to my apartment, and you threw it back in my face? How’s that for starters? Jesus Christ! I’ve never given _anyone_ a key to my home before, and if that doesn’t prove how much I love you, then I don’t know—”

“Whoa! _What_ did you say?”

A moody pout formed on Tom’s lower lip, and shoving his hands in his pockets, he stared at Booker’s battered face. “I said, if giving you a key doesn’t prove how much I love you, then I don’t know—”

“You love me?”

Surprise arched Tom’s brow. “Well, yeah. Of _course_ I do. Why would you doubt that?”

“Because this is the first time you’ve said it.”

And it was at that moment Tom started to understand how much he’d underestimated what it was Booker wanted from him. It wasn’t just about proving his devotion in loving gestures, it was about openly expressing it in words. But as a private person, he didn’t always know how to articulate his emotions, not even to those he loved the most. His lover, on the other hand, was overtly passionate and wore his feelings openly like a shield of honor. Unabashed, proud, the dark-haired officer strutted around without a care in the world, saying what he thought without ever overthinking the consequences. Except, the more Tom thought about it, the more he wondered if it were all a farce. Booker had never come out as bisexual to any of their colleagues, and yet he expected _him_ to shout it from the rooftops. It was a double standard, and one Tom was determined to get out in the open. But before he could confront his lover with his revelation, Booker offered up an unexpected apology. “Look, Tommy, I’m sorry I overreacted about the key, but you kinda caught me by surprise.”

Taken aback, Tom’s mounting anger flowed from his muscles, and his stance visibly relaxed. “I know,” he admitted with a sigh. “It was a stupid thing to—”

“It wasn’t stupid,” Booker reassured in a soft voice. “It was really thoughtful. It’s just… I guess we want different things, and that kinda frustrates me.”

“Meaning?”

Booker took his time before answering, choosing his words carefully so as not to provoke another explosive argument. “You want the perfect relationship, but you want it behind closed doors. I want it all, the passion, the fights, the ups, the downs, _and_ I want the world to see it. I’m sorry, Tom, I’m not into this secret squirrel shit. If you’re too ashamed to admit we’re a couple, then I guess, as much as I love you, I have to accept this is never gonna work.”

“How long did it take you?”

The hurriedly spoken question took Booker by surprise, and his eyebrows drew together into a frown. “I don't know what you mean. How long did it take me to what?”

Tom rubbed a nervous hand over his mouth, his mind actively contemplating the wisdom of adding more fuel to an already volatile situation. But he was genuinely curious, and so he ignored his gut and voiced his thoughts. “When you knew you were bi, how long did it take you to tell your family and friends? A day? A week? A month? A year? ‘Cause I’ve been grappling with these feelings for less than two months and you seem to think that’s long enough for me to come to terms with everything that’s changed in my life. Well, it’s not. I’m still struggling, Dennis, and it’s not because I don’t love you... I do. I love you more than I’ve loved anyone. But that doesn’t mean I’m comfortable telling Doug or anyone else about us, and if you really cared about me, you’d understand and you wouldn’t keep pressuring me to come out when I’m not ready. You’ve had time to come to terms with your sexuality, I haven’t. This is a big deal for me, and if you can’t give me the space I need, then maybe you’re right, maybe this relationship _isn’t_ going to work.”

Booker’s frown deepened. “So, this is how it’s gonna be, is it, Hanson? You’re gonna blame _me_ every time you get cold feet about us, is that it? It’s not my fault I’m comfortable with my sexuality, and you’re not.”

Exhaling an annoyed _pfft,_ Tom rolled his eyes for dramatic effect. “Stop dodging the question. There’s a reason you won’t tell me how long it took you to come out to your family and friends and I think it’s because it was more than two months, and that means _you’re_ the one with the fucking problem, not me.”

A look of uncertainty passed over Booker’s face, and as he gazed back at Tom, suddenly, everything the young officer was saying made sense. But he was too proud to admit he was wrong, and so he shifted his gaze to the floor, his mind searching for the right words to end their argument without openly acknowledging he too, was at fault.

Sensing Booker needed time to get his thoughts in order, Tom picked up the Caddy’s keys. “How about I leave you alone for a while, let you think things through, and then we can talk.”

Booker’s head snapped up. “You won’t go back to L.A. without me, will you?”

The hint of panic in his lover’s voice helped settle Tom’s nerves. “No… at least not yet. I’ll just drive around for a while, take in the sights.”

With the beginnings of a headache pulsing behind his left eye, Booker felt a certain amount of relief Tom was leaving for a few hours. He needed to clear his head before making one of the most important decisions of his life. Did he allow his lover the time he needed or did he give up on his dream and walk away? He’d carried a torch for Tom ever since he’d first laid eyes on him, and to lose him over something so petty just seemed stupid. But he had his pride. He was tired of making allowances, and he wished his lover would hurry up and accept his sexuality so they could move forward to the next phase of their lives. But he was also known for his dogged determination. He wasn’t afraid to fight for what he wanted, and he wanted Tom, more than he’d ever wanted anyone, the problem was, he wasn’t sure it was enough anymore. 

As the pain in his head intensified, the dark-haired officer managed to maintain his composure by offering Tom a wan smile. “Okay. Well, I guess I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Yeah, see you then,” Tom murmured, and turning away, he walked out the door.


	2. Love is a Four Letter Word

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: “How long did it take you?”_
> 
> _The hurriedly spoken question took Booker by surprise, and his eyebrows drew together into a frown. “I don't know what you mean. How long did it take me to what?”_
> 
> _Tom rubbed a nervous hand over his mouth, his mind actively contemplating the wisdom of adding more fuel to an already volatile situation. But he was genuinely curious, and so he ignored his gut and voiced his thoughts. “When you knew you were bi, how long did it take you to tell your family and friends? A day? A week? A month? A year? ‘Cause I’ve been grappling with these feelings for less than two months and you seem to think that’s long enough for me to come to terms with everything that’s changed in my life. Well, it’s not. I’m still struggling, Dennis, and it’s not because I don’t love you...I do. I love you more than I’ve loved anyone. But that doesn’t mean I’m comfortable telling Doug or anyone else about us, and if you really cared about me, you’d understand and you wouldn’t keep pressuring me to come out when I’m not ready. You’ve had time to come to terms with your sexuality, I haven’t. This is a big deal for me, and if you can’t give me the space I need, then maybe you’re right, maybe this relationship isn’t going to work.”_
> 
> _Booker’s frown deepened. “So, this is how it’s gonna be, is it, Hanson? You’re gonna blame me every time you get cold feet about us, is that it? It’s not my fault I’m comfortable with my sexuality, and you’re not.”_
> 
> _Exhaling an annoyed pfft, Tom rolled his eyes for dramatic effect. “Stop dodging the question. There’s a reason you won’t tell me how long it took you to come out to your family and friends and I think it’s because it was more than two months, and that means you’re the one with the fucking problem, not me.”_
> 
> _A look of uncertainty passed over Booker’s face, and as he gazed back at Tom, suddenly, everything the young officer was saying made sense. But he was too proud to admit he was wrong, and so he shifted his gaze to the floor, his mind searching for the right words to end their argument without openly acknowledging he too, was at fault._
> 
> _Sensing Booker needed time to get his thoughts in order, Tom picked up the Caddy’s keys. “How about I leave you alone for a while, let you think things through, and then we can talk.”_
> 
> _Booker’s head snapped up. “You won’t go back to L.A. without me, will you?”_
> 
> _The hint of panic in his lover’s voice helped settle Tom’s nerves. “No… at least not yet. I’ll just drive around for a while, take in the sights.”_
> 
> _With the beginnings of a headache pulsing behind his left eye, Booker felt a certain amount of relief Tom was leaving for a few hours. He needed to clear his head before making one of the most important decisions of his life. Did he allow his lover the time he needed or did he give up on his dream and walk away? He’d carried a torch for Tom ever since he’d first laid eyes on him, and to lose him over something so petty just seemed stupid. But he had his pride. He was tired of making allowances, and he wished his lover would hurry up and accept his sexuality so they could move forward to the next phase of their lives. But he was also known for his dogged determination. He wasn’t afraid to fight for what he wanted, and he wanted Tom, more than he’d ever wanted anyone, the problem was, he wasn’t sure it was enough anymore._
> 
> _As the pain in his head intensified, the dark-haired officer managed to maintain his composure by offering Tom a wan smile. “Okay. Well, I guess I’ll see you when you get back.”_
> 
> _“Yeah, see you then,” Tom murmured, and turning away, he walked out the door._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/42092416675/in/dateposted-public/)

By the time Tom returned to the condominium, the sun had already made its slow descent toward the horizon. He’d spent the day exploring Malibu’s many beaches and coves, the long, lonely walks, giving him the privacy he needed to further reflect on the previous night’s events. While he took full responsibility for his own actions, he still wasn’t sure Booker completely understood where he was coming from. He wasn’t ashamed of their relationship, he just wasn’t comfortable outing himself to his friends and family after only seven weeks. And therein lay the problem. Booker, although not always open about his bisexuality, had the luxury of time behind him, whereas _he_ was still coming to terms with the startling knowledge he was attracted to another man. When he considered he’d lost his virginity at age sixteen, he didn’t think his request for privacy was a big ask. His life had changed monumentally, and in his mind, seven weeks wasn’t long enough to fully get his head around the adjustment. But his lover obviously did, and the more Tom thought about it, the more it pissed him off. He’d attempted to do the math, but numbers were never his strong point, and growing increasingly frustrated, he’d stopped at a funky little beachside cafe, ordered a coffee and politely asked for a pen and paper. It had still taken him several minutes to work out the equation, but after checking and double checking his algebra, he’d calculated since losing his virginity to Susan Packard, he’d spent less than 1.7 percent of his life attracted to a man. That meant he’d spent a whopping 98.3 percent of his time actively chasing women, which only reinforced his argument. He needed time, and no matter how much he loved Booker and sympathized with his standpoint, he wouldn’t allow him to emotionally bully him into coming out when he wasn’t ready.

Trudging up the condo’s steps, Tom wondered if his lover had also spent much of his day searching his soul through silent reflection. He was still waiting for Booker to give him an answer to his question, and he hoped he would finally get an honest insight into the dark-haired officer’s journey of sexual awakening. But as he opened the door, his expectations were immediately shattered. Silence met his ears, the gloomy apartment showing no signs of life. It was a blow to his confidence and turning his attention to the closed bedroom door, he exhaled a disappointed sigh. Evening had not yet chased away the last of the sun’s rays, but it appeared rather than wait for his return, Booker had taken the easy option and gone to bed. The realization hurt more than the young officer cared to admit, and his shoulders sagged ever so slightly. But surprisingly, although saddened by his partner’s apparent lack of interest in repairing their damaged relationship, he wasn’t angry. In a weird way, he’d anticipated Booker’s withdrawal. The dark-haired officer’s ego had taken a massive beating, and Tom knew him well enough to accept he needed time to lick his wounds. He also knew him well enough to know his lover would attempt to make it up to him. Maybe not by openly admitting he was wrong, but he’d find a way to let him know he regretted his actions. Which worked out well because Tom regretted using _his_ fists instead of his words. Now he’d had time to calm down, the young officer longed for the festering animosity to fade into the background so he could press his lips against his lover’s bruised flesh and kiss away his pain. Even then, it would take time before they were back to a place where they both felt comfortable. Since waking up next to Booker all those weeks ago, he’d come to realize theirs was—and probably always would be—a volatile affair. One false move and they’d once again find themselves picking up the pieces of their broken hearts. But surprisingly, the knowledge didn’t deter Tom. He’d found himself in plenty of safe relationships, and after a period of time, he grew restless and moved on. Life with Booker was _never_ dull, and if he were honest with himself, he actually relished the passion, even when it was misdirected. It was a refreshing change, and although he’d never been one to engage in drama, he was prepared to make an exception if it meant being with the man he loved.

A sudden desire to see his lover had Tom’s heart skipping a beat and walking across the room, he carefully pushed opened the bedroom door. Inside, Booker lay asleep on the bed, a copy of Charles Bukowski’s _‘Notes of a Dirty Old Man’_ resting on his chest. The gloom of the impending night concealed his blackened eyes, but the thick animal-like snuffle of his breathing communicated the severity of his injuries, and a shiver of regret chilled Tom’s body. He longed to wake his lover so he could express his remorse, but he recognized the selfishness behind his yearning. Sleep spared Booker from both the physical and emotional pain of their fight and waking him would only serve to lessen his own guilt. And so, with a heavy heart, he took one last look at his lover and quietly closed the door.

In need of a drink, Tom picked up his backpack and pulled out a bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label. He had planned on cracking the bottle with Booker and toasting the start of their new life together, but so far, nothing about the weekend had gone the way he'd anticipated. All he'd managed to do was drive a wedge between them, and he was starting to think he sucked at the whole romance thing. Booker, on the other hand, had the art of seduction down pat, leaving Tom feeling awkward and inexperienced. He'd honestly thought his surprise would blow his lover’s mind, but it had backfired in the most spectacular fashion imaginable. It was soul-destroying, but there wasn’t anything he could do except chalk it up to experience and move on. He’d learned his lesson the hard way, and he wouldn’t make the same mistake again. By opening his heart, he’d caused both himself and his lover insurmountable pain, and he was starting to think he was better off keeping his feelings to himself. But he also knew Booker needed reassurance their relationship was more than a casual fling, which left him right back where he started, and he began to wonder if he’d ever get it right.

Placing the bottle on the kitchen counter, Tom ignored his dirty breakfast dishes and went in search of a glass. As he passed the trash can, he caught sight of a crumpled receipt lying on top of the discarded blue box. Curious, he picked it up and smoothing out the edges he stared at the piece of paper. Someone had written the number **_3_** in blue pen, tracing the same line over and over with such force, the nib had ripped through the paper. The writer had then scribbled out the number, the weight of the strokes communicating a level of agitation born from frustration. As Booker was the only other occupant in the condo, it was obviously his writing. But it seemed a strange thing to jot down, strikeout, then throw away, and the cryptic notation left Tom wondering what it was all about.

“Three years.”

Turning slowly around, Tom stared at the disheveled figure standing in the bedroom doorway. With his blackened eyes and sleep-mussed hair, Booker cut a sad figure, and Tom longed to take him in his arms and offer him comfort. But there was an unmistakable _do not approach_ aura emanating from the dark-haired officer, and so he abandoned his plan and instead, asked the obvious question. “What?”

Shoving his hands deep in his pockets, Booker refused to meet his lover’s gaze. “You asked me how long it took me to come out to my family. It took three years. So, you were right, and I was wrong. Happy?”

Tom looked down at the paper in his hand, a deep sadness shining from his eyes. “Why would that make me happy?” he murmured. “If it was as confusing for you as it is for me...” 

His voice trailed off, his lips unable or unwilling to articulate his feelings. Silence followed, his unspoken words hanging heavily between them, each man mentally filling in the blanks. After what seemed like a lifetime, Tom finally found his voice and lifting his gaze, he offered his lover an understanding smile. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

Shut down by two small yet highly significant words, Tom lowered his eyes. Time was his enemy, ticking slowly by as he struggled to find the right words to end the ill will that threatened to dissolve what was left of their battered relationship. But in the end, it was Booker who broke the silence, his voice barely audible as he bared his soul. “I was outed in high school by an ex-girlfriend, and that’s when the bullying started.”

Moistening his lips, Tom hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Geez, Dennis, I’m sorry. What did you do?”

Shame flickered in Booker’s eyes, the spark momentarily dancing across his irides before fading into the darkness. “I denied it.”

They were the words Tom had waited to hear, but surprisingly, he took no pleasure from the frank admission. His mind conjured up a picture of a teenage Booker struggling to come to terms with his sexuality, and the imagery caused a physical pain in his heart. There were no winners in the situation they found themselves in, just two men desperately trying to internalize all the emotion welling inside them. Neither officer’s suffering outweighed the pain of the other’s, they’d just experienced their sexual awakening at different times in their lives. And despite Booker’s cocky bravado, Tom knew the dark-haired officer’s emotional scars ran deep, he was just adept at hiding them behind a shield of sarcasm and humor. And maybe, if he’d confided in Tom his own struggles rather than burying the truth beneath a cloak of self-assurance, they wouldn’t be in the mess they were now. But he hadn’t, and that left Tom with two choices. He could tear Booker a new one for continually bullying him to come out when he’d experienced the same indecision himself, or he could offer a sympathetic ear. Surprisingly, the decision was an easy one, and stepping forward, he placed a hand on his lover’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Of course you did, it was a confusing time for you. High school’s a bitch, especially for those who are perceived as _different._ You did the right thing, don’t ever doubt that.”

A light blush crept up Booker’s neck, coloring his face a soft shade of pink, and lowering his head, he stared at the floor. “I’ve behaved like such an ass.”

In an attempt to lighten the mood, Tom chuckled. “Yeah? Well, join the club. I’m a card-carrying member.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Booker’s lips. “Nice to know I’m in good company.”

With the ice broken, Tom offered up his own apology. “I’m sorry I hit you. If I could take it back, I—”

“I deserved it,” Booker interjected. “My behavior was… well, unacceptable doesn’t even cover it. It’s just…” 

When he didn’t finish his sentence, Tom gently pressed for an answer. “It’s just what?”

Booker’s shoulders sagged, a dark cloud of despondency settling over his face. “The case I was on, it… Jesus, Tom, if you thought that drunk in the bar was bad, this was next level. The things I witnessed, the things these gang members did… it was brutal. And I couldn’t say or do anything because I was undercover and I had to wait until they did something that broke the law. Do you have any idea how difficult that was for me? I watched these gay men tormented in the cruelest of ways, and I couldn’t stop it. So, do you know what I did? I participated. I became the fucking bully, and the moment I became one of them, a little piece of me died.”

“Jesus,” Tom muttered, a deep sadness emanating from his eyes. “Why didn’t you—”

“Tell you?” Booker shot back. “And what if I had, Hanson, huh? Then what? The way I see it, you would have despised me more than you do now.”

Tom’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I don’t despise you, Dennis, I _love_ you.”

A sad smile played over Booker’s lips. “No, you don’t,” he murmured. “But thanks for saying it,” and before Tom could answer back, he walked into the bedroom and closed the door.


End file.
